Dominoes Can Rise Again
by Alligates
Summary: Sequel to Like Dominoes. The Gods have decided that Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana are not yet done with destiny. They are sent back, but as teenagers with no memories, and with the power of Emrys imbedded deep within each of them. They are taken in by the Druids, far from Camelot, where Arthur has been grieving for a year, and is close to giving up. No slash, a bit of whump/gore.
1. Prologue

**I AM ALIVE!  
Okay that's all I really wanted to say.**

**This is a sequel to _Like Dominoes_, and yes, you probably want to read that first. Don't worry; it's not that long!  
I can't put a link to it here CURSE YOU FANFICTION  
**

**This story will start by swimming through the different times. There is the present, a time six months before, and a few moments in between. It shouldn't be too confusing; I'll warn you guys when the time changes. It'll be smooth sailing in the present by the third chapter, probably.**

**DISCLAIMER: I only own my little Druid OCs. Merlin belongs to the BBC (even if they completely screwed up the ending and I will never forgive them.)**  
**WARNING: Read Like Dominoes first, and know that it is set after the Diamond of the Day Part 1, so the finale never happened (well, it just happened... differently.)**  
**No slash, as always, unless you absolutely must.**

**On with the show!**

* * *

_Present_

* * *

A year.

It had been a full year since the battle.

Since all the bodies had been cleared away…

Since all the prophecies had been fulfilled…

Since Merlin had gone.

And even a year later, the pain was just as raw as ever for a young king who stood emotionless at a window, absently watching his people going about their daily businesses, as if they were no more than ants bringing food back to their nest. The sun was only just rising, but he felt no warmth from its golden light.

Arthur was like that every morning, now. Guinevere and Gaius worried over him constantly. They made sure he ate enough, slept enough, kept from going completely mad….

And he was grateful. He really was.

But he would still turn back any servant who offered to sharpen his sword.

The sword had lived through many of his battles, but after Camlann, he felt it had lived through enough.

Merlin had led him to the sword.

It didn't feel right to use it anymore.

Still, no other sword was as well-balanced or powerful. His knights wanted him to take up the beauty once more, to fight like the great man they all knew he was.

But Arthur would never do it, always fighting meekly with a simple, unadorned blade, or even borrowing one from a knight, saying he'd 'forgotten' his own.

The refusal was frustrating to most, and inexplicable to the rest.

Only Gaius understood the significance of it. He daren't say anything about it, and he let the King grieve.

But the King never _stopped _grieving.

They'd thought it was just a passing phase, a momentary fluke in the heart of a great king; they'd thought Arthur would move on. They'd thought he _could_ move on. The loss of Merlin had dealt everyone quite a heavy blow, but none felt it quite as hard as Arthur.

Arthur, who'd seen the boy every single morning as he threw open the curtains and blabbered some cheerful nonsense that the King secretly enjoyed. Arthur, who would often pick on Merlin and make him his training partner just to put him back in his place, but without ever even thinking of trying to actually hurt him. Arthur, who'd honestly felt Merlin was his best friend… maybe his only friend.

Arthur, who was now very, very lonely.

Not only that, but he was trying to drown himself in his solitude.

The young king heard Guinevere as she tiptoed over to him, but he made no move to turn around. Even as she tenderly wrapped her arms around his chest, he did little except pull her a little closer. He continued to stare out unseeingly at the city. The young queen tentatively ran a hand across his short beard (which he'd begun to grow a year ago, after the battle, and never really attempted to trim unless ordered to by his wife.)

There was a lulling moment of peace as they held each other. Neither wanted to break the silence, but Gwen had something to say. "Arthur," she began uncertainly. She opened her mouth a few more times, but the words wouldn't come. Gods, how could she say this?

Arthur sighed; the first audible response from him in a long time. "Guinevere," he prompted quietly.

But Gwen didn't want to upset him. "No, no. It's nothing. I… I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry. I'll just—"

"Please continue."

Gwen paused, pulling back from the embrace. She searched his bloodshot blue eyes, and she could just _feel_ all the pain he held within them as he stared back. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days. And he hadn't, as she well knew.

"Arthur," she started again, a little more softly. "You know what day it is."

He inhaled slowly through his nose, letting it out through his mouth. "I do," he acknowledged. He seemed dispassionate, but Guinevere knew better.

They both gazed out at Camelot, their home. Soft morning light pooled at their feet as the day began.

"Oh, how I do," he whispered into the bleak air.

The sunrise was cold on the anniversary of Merlin's death.

* * *

_Six months earlier_

* * *

Far, far away from Camelot's castle, a great beam of light fell down from the sky, followed by a second, and then a third. The forest they landed in lit up in blue, and any living creature within distance paused in their activities to stare at the three pillars. They just stood there in a triangle for a moment, outshining the early sun in their brilliance, before the first dropped fully to the earth, quickly followed by the two others.

It meant little to most onlookers, but the sight had great meaning.

The Gods had decided.

Emrys had fulfilled his destiny, but there was still much he could do.

And there were two others that day; two people, once horribly misunderstood and dreadfully misguided, but both could do with a second chance.

They would all be reborn, in the same bodies, but younger; more years to come meant more time for explanations, and more time to process said explanations, leading to many avoided mishaps. Most importantly, it gave them more time to learn.

There were three adolescents lying unconscious in the forest that day, each the corner of a single great triangle of blue light. They all had dark hair and pale skin. Under their closed lids, blue and green eyes in varying hues shone like molten gold with the flow of magic.

The Druids were the first to discover them, sensing their power and carrying them back to their camp.

And so it was that Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana would rise again.

* * *

**Okay I'm trying to make it as non-confusing as possible. Just review if you have any questions, or PM me if you're too shy ;) I always reply to reviews, unless they're anonymous or whatnot (or if I just don't know what to say because it doesn't make sense XD)**

**I should be submitting the next chapter soon. I mean, it's done, but... I don't want to submit everything at once XD just wait and see!**

**Please review! o3o  
**


	2. The Power of Three

**Okay here's chapter two!  
**

**And here's the answer to a certain _person_ who reviewed _anonymously_ while I know you have a _perfectly_ good account you can _log into_  
What was I saying?  
Oh yes.  
Excuse me while I quote the question: "wait but then Arthur and Gwen and all the knights would be a lot older...?" Well, you see, _Guest_, the Gods brought them back, right? And they can do basically whatever the hell they want. So it only took them six months to 'grow' the bodies.  
And they've been staying with the Druids for six months, in case I'm messing up the timelines...  
Was that a spoiler  
**

**DISCLAIMER: I only own my little Druids, Merlin belongs to the BBC, blah blah blah.  
WARNING: Oh guys this is important. I actually need the warning for once; this chapter does contain quite a bit of gore, but I don't think it's that bad... it might be, though. If you are incredibly squeamish, then feel free to skip that entire paragraph (you'll know it when you get to it.) It's only that one paragraph, pretty much.  
No slash, but feel free to wear goggles.**

* * *

_Present_

* * *

"Geroldin?"

The middle-aged man turned around with a slight jump. His guarded eyes softened at the sight of the adolescent timidly standing at the opening of his canvas tent.

"Ah, Merlin," he greeted kindly. "Is everything alright?"

Geroldin, the Druid, had been reading a thick book about some obscure magical topic, and he'd nearly dropped the heavy tome at the surprise entrance. But he quickly set it down and focused all his attention on the large-eared boy.

Geroldin didn't necessarily have to be so mindful of the young man's problems and questions, but he felt a sense of responsibility for him, along with two others he thought to be his siblings.

Because six months ago, he had been the one to find Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana when they'd suddenly turned up in the forest, and he'd taken them in.

And they had had no memories of their pasts.

* * *

_Six months ago_

* * *

Early one morning, Geroldin was leading some of the Druid children through the forest, teaching them about the magic in the trees and the animals. The older Druid was something of everyone's mentor; he wasn't the leader of their clan, and certainly not the most powerful, but, being one of the oldest Druids of their group, he'd lived through Uther's Purge, and he seemed to know everything about anything. He was kindhearted and gentle, and always willing to help anyone who needed it. Even the clan's leader, Evalac, was known to often go to him for advice.

Geroldin had just been showing the fascinated children a small robin that had alighted on his hand when it happened.

Three beams of light shot down from the sky, soundlessly hitting the ground not far from where they were.

The old man gasped, startling the robin away. The children watched in wonderment as the entire forest seemed to glow a warm blue.

"Master Geroldin, what is that?" a small girl asked, her blue eyes wide.

The Druid didn't answer her. "Children," he instructed in a deadly calm voice, "I want you all to hide behind the trees for a moment; shield yourselves from the light, and do _not _make a sound."

The young Druids didn't question him. They all felt the urgency of the situation, nodding and dashing behind the foliage.

Geroldin, for his part, did not hide behind a tree. After making sure all the kids were out of sight, he stalked forwards, towards the lit-up clearing. There were very few things of such magnitude that happened in their part of the forest, and he was definitely going to find out what it was, and he _would _eradicate it if it posed any threat to the children.

He crept a bit closer to see, and this time he did indeed go to hide behind a tree. There were three figures standing rigidly in the centre of the clearing, and the beams of light came right down on them, surrounding their bodies in the magic. Geroldin hid, because while he knew quite a good deal about magic, he wasn't very strong in the art, and didn't have much of a chance against these three and their obvious power; he could feel it mixing with that of the earth, like tiny glowing rivulets that flowed in both directions, connecting them eternally. Were they even human, he wondered?

Then, all of a sudden, the light died away, sinking into the ground. Geroldin gasped at the sudden feeling of cold seeping through him, as if he'd just walked away from a warm fire (or as if a warm fire had just been taken away from him). He stayed at the tree for a few moments longer, clinging to it like an anchor. And then he slowly inched around it to face the clearing.

He frowned in bemusement at the sight before him. Now, that wasn't what he'd been expecting….

There were three young people, seemingly asleep, in the middle of the clearing. They all had pale skin and dark hair; one was a girl with angular, porcelain features partially hidden by her long wavy hair; another was a boy with more rounded features and curly brown hair; and the last one had high, prominent cheekbones and a shock of raven-black hair. Maybe they were siblings, Geroldin mused. They certainly looked the part. It could explain how they all had the same connection with the earth, perhaps.

He gingerly stepped forwards, looking in all directions for signs of a trap or more of the strange blue light. Seeing nothing, he trotted the rest of the way and knelt at the closest figure. It was the boy with the cheekbones. They were all so dangerously pale… were they alive? The old Druid gently touched a finger to the side of the boy's neck.

He shuddered involuntarily at the sheer amount of _magic _he could feel. Surely this… this couldn't be…? He'd never felt it before, but he just _knew_… this was _Emrys_. He knew enough about magic to be able to tell, and though his spellcasting wasn't the greatest, he rarely came to the wrong conclusions on the matter.

But that was impossible; Emrys had been killed in the Battle of Camlann, hadn't he? And he had been quite a bit older than this boy, if the other clans were not mistaken….

He quickly checked all the others. They all had an equally powerful amount of magic flowing through them, and… Geroldin paused. It was all the same power. He could feel the Emrys in them as well.

Was Emrys… three people? Or four, if you counted the one that had died. But how would that work? Emrys was a single sorcerer; everyone knew that. And he was the most powerful of all—there couldn't be _three_ of him.

_Could it be that… that Emrys has been reborn into three people? _Geroldin mused, perplexed.

It was the only explanation that made sense. The Gods weren't, after all, quite as all-powerful as they were said to be. It was hard enough (quite impossible, in fact) to bring someone back to life—thrice the difficulty in this case. Maybe they needed Emrys' power to perform this fully? And the residue power had gone into all of their bodies….

Geroldin was a good guesser. The Gods had not, in fact, possessed enough power in them to bring back all three powerful sorcerers. So they had tapped into Emrys', inadvertently creating three new Emryses.

The adolescents looked to be around fourteen, fifteen at the most. It was an odd age to be reborn into, Geroldin thought, but the Gods had their reasons for everything; a younger age meant that they would have more time to understand themselves and others, and not cause the chaos they had last time (not that Geroldin knew much about that). It was just safer.

Geroldin knelt there for a while, simply gaping at the three people, little more than children, and the raw power knitted tightly within them, connecting them. It was unfathomable, but here it was.

The old man could have remained there, immobile, for who knows how long, buried in his musings, oblivious to the very children he'd warned to hide coming out from behind their trees and edging around the clearing, watching with the avid interest only the young manage to have.

But then one of the Emryses moved. It was the boy with the cheekbones. His hand twitched marginally from where it lay beside the other boy's, and his brow furrowed.

Geroldin hadn't realized he'd leaned in so close to his face until the boy gasped, eyes flying open, and the Druid leapt back in surprise. The boy's wide eyes glowed a bright, impossible gold for a second before the blatant colour faded to become a soft, deep blue. The boy attempted to push himself up, but he couldn't seem to find the strength, and contented himself to simply lie there, staring up at the Druid with intelligent eyes. Geroldin ignored the unnervingly omniscient-looking gaze (it felt to Geroldin as though the boy was staring straight into his soul), and inched forwards to help the boy sit up.

"What is your name?" the Druid whispered, still frowning in bewilderment at the impossibility of all that had happened, and still was.

The boy blinked dazedly. "Merlin," he uttered clearly, before frowning in confusion. "Who… who are you? What happened? Where…." He faltered, eyelids fluttering as he struggled to cling to consciousness.

"My name is Geroldin. I am a Druid. I'm going to help you, Merlin. You and your friends will be alright," he assured, but Merlin's eyes had already closed.

Geroldin frowned worriedly, setting him down. He turned around, raising an eyebrow at the sight of all the Druid children watching, but said nothing of it, motioning for them to come closer.

"Caspar," he motioned to a small, light-ginger-haired boy with impish grey eyes, "go with Emmerich back to the camp. Get Evalac and the others; we may need some help here."

The two boys nodded immediately, setting off determinedly into the trees, Druid capes swept up parallel to the ground behind them.

Maybe it was unsafe to let two young boys go alone, but Geroldin had a feeling there would be no more unexpected events that day. There was only so much the Gods could mess around with at one time, after all.

* * *

It soon became apparent that the three adolescents had next to no memories of their pasts.

They'd woken shortly after arriving at the camp, and they knew each other's names, as well as their own. But nothing else.

They could talk and read and write, and they knew who the Druids were, and they knew all the basic information that people their age should know, as well as a bit more. They even knew quite a few impressive spells that they didn't remember being taught. But they recalled naught of what lives they had lived, where they had come from, whom they'd known.

They did not know exactly what 'Emrys' was when asked, but the name sparked some recognition in all of them.

Geroldin had only told Evalac and a few of the other important clan members of the suspected true nature of the three. Reincarnations were not common, but then again, that is not exactly what this was.

The three were quickly accepted as new Druids, and they were kind to everyone, never looking for a quarrel or being anything below polite. But there were still suspicions among those who knew the full extent of the power of these three shy adolescents. Even if they had no memories to share, they kept to themselves, not speaking often to anyone other than each other. Everyone had felt the loss of Emrys, and few were inclined, at first, to believe that there was now three of one power.

That is, until young Caspar was attacked outside the camp by Camelot's forces. It had been a minor patrol of small knights and soldiers, but they were all armed with swords and spears, as well as fists and feet. And not all of Camelot was very happy about their King's newfound lenience on magic.

Caspar never stood a chance.

His friend Emmerich, worried about how long is was taking Caspar to pick a some berries, had been the first to find him, but his scream had been enough to alert half the forest of the situation. The poor boy was absolutely shattered by the state of his friend.

The assailants were long gone by then.

Caspar didn't have a square inch of skin that wasn't marred by bruises or blood. There was a nasty cut on his head that dyed all of his orange hair a sickening shade of crimson, as well as a rather worrying red stain blooming on his abdomen. He was curled into himself, bleeding steadily onto the old leaves. His thready breathing was irregular and raspy, and there was a thin stream of blood flowing from his mouth. One of his legs was bent at an odd angle, and his boot was missing. Some of the skin had been peeled off of his foot, torn off by some merciless creature, and there was some white beneath all the red… was that bone?

Evalac and Geroldin were the first to get there, but the rest of the camp quickly followed. One Druid took one look at Caspar and grabbed the still-staring Emmerich, pulling the distraught boy into her arms. She hid his face from the mutilated remains of his friend, trying to soothe his hyperventilating.

Geroldin knelt beside the small boy, gently placing a hand over his head. He closed his eyes and took a breath. "He's fading, quickly. Evalac, you need to hurry."

The Druid leader was pale, eyes going from one spot of blood to another on the boy's seemingly endless mess of a body. "Geroldin, this is beyond anything I've ever attempted before," he whispered, low enough so as to not let any of the other Druids hear his uncertainty. "I'm not sure I can do this. I'm not sure it's even _possible_."

"Evalac, you're the only one who can. You have to try. You're the most powerful of all of us."

Evalac gave him a stern look. "Geroldin—"

"It's not up for debate. You _must_ do this. Save the boy's life, Evalac, please," Geroldin said softly, trying and failing to keep his emotions in check as his voice cracked slightly on the last word.

Evalac stared hopelessly into his friend's earnest eyes. "I can't."

"You will."

The Druid let out a sigh, steeling his nerves. The boy was hanging on his last threads now, his breathing fading to barely even being there, the visibly unscathed parts of his skin paling to a sickly shade of grey. Evalac placed a trembling hand on Caspar's chest, just above his heart. "_Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare_," he uttered. His eyes glowed a fierce gold as he waited hopefully for the spell to have any effect. When nothing happened, a small frown furrowed his brow. "_Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare_," he said again, a little louder, allowing his power to flow more heavily from him. Sweat beaded on his brow when still nothing happened. Caspar's wounds still bled consistently, and his breathing only worsened.

He tried a third time, but his voice broke and he couldn't get through the spell. He bowed his head in despair.

"Try again," Geroldin said, still trying to instill his faith in their leader.

But Evalac was having none of it. "It's not working!" the Druid leader ground out fretfully, if a little hysterically. He'd known it was hopeless.

Geroldin closed his eyes, capitulating. He'd known as well.

No one said anything; they'd doubted anything could be done before, but now all hope was entirely extinguished. A few more tears were shed silently, and the Druids bowed their heads.

They all muttered their own quiet prayers for the poor boy.

Caspar was nine.

Emmerich buried his face in the kind woman's shoulder, sobbing mutely.

Of course, that is when Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana appeared. They stared wide-eyed at the carnage, at the ring of praying Druids, and at Evalac and Geroldin, both kneeling helplessly by Caspar's side, eyes closed. The three young warlocks (for they were indeed warlocks, being Emryses and all that) then shared a somber yet determined look between themselves, unspoken conversation passing easily. No one paid them any heed, what with their eyes shut and their distraught minds elsewhere. They slipped past the Druids, stopping beside Caspar's body. Mordred went to kneel at the boy's head, and the other two went on either side. They gently placed their hands on the boy, feeling the last few shuddering breaths coming from the blood-clogged lungs. Geroldin, sensing the trio's power gathering, opened his eyes and regarded them wearily.

"Children, I'm afraid there is… there is nothing to be done. Please do not instill false hope, and let Caspar's passing be an easy matter." He said it quietly yet firmly, not wanting anyone else to hear, but Evalac stopped his praying and stood up, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Just let them try, Geroldin." It was clear from his tone that he believed nothing would actually happen; he was one of the skeptics who doubted the existence of three Emryses. But even the smallest chance that the boy could be saved was enough to allow them to attempt.

Geroldin sighed, closing his eyes. He wasn't one to crush children's hopes, but they had to know when nothing could be done. He was about to step forwards and put an end to this painful nonsense, but then their eyes began to glow gold.

The magic spread through their bodies, flowing down their arms to the tips of their fingers, and slowly trickling into Caspar's body. The golden energy swirled around, jumping from wound to wound like a tiny dolphin, but infinitely more graceful. By now, the rest of the Druids had opened their eyes and ceased their chanting, watching with open bewilderment. Even Emmerich turned around and watched, tears leaving shining trails on his cheeks but no longer falling.

The three warlocks hadn't said a word or moved since the beginning of the process, but now they closed their eyes. The magic flowed a bit more quickly from them. Even as the others watched, Caspar's breathing strengthened and sped up to a normal pace. It wasn't rattling any more. Broken skin reknit itself back over muscle and bone, and the blood stopped oozing out of his many wounds. The unnatural pallor of his skin gained a healthier shade, and his broken leg slid back into place with the tiniest of painless clicks.

As the stunned Druids watched on, all skeptics forgetting their doubts, Caspar was completely healed, barely a trace of anything having ever happened left save for a small bruise here or there.

It was impossible, and yet there it was.

No one felt inclined to actually believe it.

And then Caspar opened his grey eyes. They were as alight with playful curiosity as ever.

Very few paid attention to the three dark-haired warlocks as they took simultaneous shuddering breaths, eyes fluttering opening and gold flickering away. Everyone was focused on the nine-year-old miracle.

Caspar blinked, frowning slightly. He tilted his head backwards, glancing up at the ring of Druids.

"Gh… nuh…" he mumbled hoarsely. He cleared his throat and continued. "Geroldin? What happened?"

The cloaked figures all gasped with relief, many laughing out loud and hugging their friends. Geroldin had tears in his eyes as he smiled purely at the boy, leaning forwards to ruffle his hair. Emmerich let out a cry of joyous relief, throwing himself past the other Druids to wrap his arms tightly around his friend. Caspar lay incomprehensibly in the dry leaves, frowning as he tried to remember the recent events. Merlin grinned tiredly, leaning back on his hands. Morgana beamed at her brothers, proud of their accomplishment. Mordred, for one, turned his head slightly to hide (rather unsuccessfully) the water gathering in his eyes even as he grinned.

Evalac was not smiling.

Quite the opposite, in fact. He was staring, almost angrily, at the three newest additions to the clan—_his_ clan. Evalac wasn't normally a possessive person, but these Druids looked to him for support. He had the strongest magic, and even if it was selfish, he preferred it that way. Now, Druids don't normally feel this prejudiced need to be the leader, but Evalac was used to being in charge, and he didn't like changes. He was happy for Caspar's being alive, he really was, but… three seemingly untrained _children_ had accomplished without even a _spell_ or too much visible effort what he, the Druid leader, could not, with all his years of reading books and practising with the best teachers available.

It was a hit to his pride, and all men cling to their pride, pacifist Druids or not.

It was also a bit suspicious.

And Evalac was a man who was suspicious of most things.

He gravitated to the back of the merry crowd, watching the three tired warlocks with narrowed eyes.

Emrys was _dead_. Everyone in the magical world had felt his passing. There was no way Geroldin was in his right mind; why would the Gods reincarnate the power of Emrys in three bodies? Why would they reincarnate it at all?

Those three were hiding something. He just knew it.

And, as leader and protector of his clan, he was determined to find out just what.

* * *

**Okay. There's chapter two. It's a bit long. Don't expect chapter three by tomorrow; I'm still working on that one.  
**

**Seriously guys, don't be scared to ask questions. Also if you see a grammatical error, typo, etc, then please tell me about it! Even just a paragraph that got stuck to another one... I want to fix everything!**

**Okay, well, I'm done. **

**Please review! o3o**


	3. The Secret Council

**Here's chapter three!  
This should be the last chapter filled with old people having problems and pondering things and whatnot, not to worry. We'll have more of the trio later on!  
**

**DISCLAIMER: I only own the Druids with names in this fic; Merlin belongs to the BBC.  
WARNING: Onslaught of OCs ahead. I'll do a recount of all the OCs so far at the end of this chapter.  
No slash unless you deem it absolutely necessary (seriously it'll be pretty hard to find in this fic up until now XD)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Present_

* * *

Merlin shifted uncomfortably in the tent. "Well…" he hesitated.

Geroldin frowned. While Merlin wasn't often one to share his personal thoughts, he did talk often about anything and everything. He wasn't one to hesitate, unless something really needed saying, but didn't want to come out.

"Yes, Merlin?" the Druid prompted.

Merlin's eyes widened slightly as he spoke. "Why doesn't Evalac like us?" he blurted. It was clear whom 'us' referred to; Merlin and his siblings were inseparable at the best of times. It was actually a bit unusual for him to come alone. Upon realizing what he'd said, the boy covered his mouth, shaking his head. "I—no, I only meant that… that—"

"It's quite alright, Merlin. Even_ I_ can tell that our leader's feelings towards you three have not been the warmest." He gave a small smile.

The boy tilted his head slightly. "But why?" He moved a bit closer as he spoke, hands flailing about in time with his words. The air hummed a little with magic, and Geroldin was mildly amused at how Merlin didn't seem to notice what he was doing—and a little concerned.

Geroldin leaned back in his chair. "Well, Merlin… he needs time to… to get used to you, and—"

"But why?" Merlin exploded. A few things on the ground and on the shelves floated into the air, vibrating a little. "Hasn't he had enough time to 'get used to us' yet? It's been six months, Geroldin; what's holding him back?"

The older man was silent for a moment, observing the frustrated, powerful boy before him. "You've put a lot of thought into this." It wasn't a question. Merlin, along with Mordred, didn't often make things move around, unlike their temperamental sister Morgana. It took a lot of high emotion for him to lose control like this.

Merlin blinked, and gave a sigh. His arms went down to rest by his sides, and the floating objects were set back down in their respective places. "Just a bit. Yeah."

Geroldin ignored the two dark-haired heads trying to inconspicuously materialize at his tent opening. "Well, Merlin… Evalac is… a proud man. He likes to be the head of things, and he likes things to go his way. He—"

"Is this because of when we healed Caspar?" Morgana asked bluntly, giving up all pretenses of not being there and marching into the tent, dragging Mordred after her.

The middle-aged man raised an eyebrow. "Now, Morgana, what have we said about interrupting?"

"I'm not interrupting if you're not really _saying _anything," she sniffed. "So tell us what's really going on."

Geroldin regarded her, eyebrow arching ever higher, but she did not deflate. Eventually he sighed. These children would be the death of him one of these days, he was sure of it.

"I don't think it's something you all want to hear—"

"Geroldin," said a soft voice. Geroldin's eyes swivelled to Mordred. The boy was the quietest of all three, and it was rare for him to speak up so directly in a conversation—he usually just added minor points to his siblings' words. "Please? We really think we should know. We overheard Evalac—"

Morgana elbowed him fiercely in the ribs. "Shut up, Mordred," she grumbled under her breath.

Ah. _That_ was why Mordred rarely spoke. He always ended up divulging their secrets. Actually, so did Merlin, but he had a frustratingly sneaky way of veering the conversation away from himself. It was as if he'd spent a lifetime keeping secrets simply by avoiding the subject (he was, after all, a formidably terrible liar).

But Geroldin was still curious as to what Evalac would have been saying to bother them so much. "What did you hear?"

* * *

_Two hours prior_

* * *

"I've had enough of them!" the Druid leader growled, slamming his fist onto the table in his tent. The other respected Druids of the clan (save Geroldin, as Evalac knew he would be against this) sat around the long, low table; some agreed, nodding emphatically. Others were not so sure, looking to their compatriots for ways to express their floundering opinions. A small minority of the group disapproved wholeheartedly, but they did their best to hide it, knowing that their leader was not at his calmest and would surely dismiss them from this meeting and others to come, as he had done with Geroldin.

Everyone, of course, knew of whom the irate Druid spoke. The three 'Emryses' were a topic of great in-depth discussion, though their popularity had faded gradually over their six months with the Druids, with a few fluctuations.

Though no one was to know that the three Emryses were actually right outside the tent, listening attentively through the canvas.

"I'm tired of what they're doing to the people!" Evalac continued, wildly waving his hands around to emphasize his words.

One Druid, one of the few who were older than Geroldin, leaned forwards to speak. "Evalac," he intoned in a deep, clear voice, "the children have done nothing wrong to us. In fact, they've done us much good—"

"That's what I mean! They can't just keep… _helping_ us! They don't belong here! We know next to nothing about them!"

The old man, whose name was Thomas, kept on talking. "We know their names, Evalac. Even they do not know much else about themselves! You must—"

"See, that's what they _want _you to think," he interrupted again. "They're hiding something! I know it."

"Oh, Evalac," said another Druid, this one younger, with long reddish-brown hair, "you've been going on about them 'hiding something' ever since that whole incident with Caspar. I don't trust them either, but really, what would they have to hide?"

"An ulterior motive!" a young voice cried. This came from the newest addition to their little council; a young man named Rodrick, who never really made up his mind, but was always enthusiastic when he had an idea, even if it made little sense to the others. He was a full head shorter than Evalac, so he made sure to stay on the brash man's good side.

"An ulterior motive?" Thomas scoffed, eyes widening. "Why would Emrys have an ulterior motive?"

"You speak of Emrys as though he was a single person. We have three people to deal with here, Thomas. Keep up." This came from the reddish-brown-haired one, Andrew.

Thomas disliked Andrew very much, and they disagreed on nearly every topic.

Another Druid quickly intervened, wanting to keep the peace. "Calm yourselves, men," she said firmly, "you accomplish no good with your bickering."

No one disagreed. Thomas and Andrew sank back into their seats, shooting occasional glares at one another.

"Emrys is good," said a croaky, deep voice. Everyone fell silent, turning to look at the old bag of wrinkles shrouded in brown robes at the edge of the table. It wasn't often that Muronius, the oldest and most respected of their clan, spoke up in debates.

When the old man didn't elaborate, Evalac straightened. "What do you mean, Muronius?"

Muronius turned to him, a look of slight exasperation on his face. "I mean what I said, Evalac. Emrys is good, and no lies can mask the fact."

"Are you calling our leader a liar?" Andrew said, mildly outraged. It went unsaid that the young man didn't feel the need to respect his elders as much as others did.

The Druid leader was the one to calm him this time, placing a hand on his right-hand man's shoulder. "Let him speak, Andrew."

"Emrys," the old man went on, voice growing stronger with every word, "was the power given by the Gods to a certain individual so that he—or she—may protect the Once and Future King, stand at his side, so he may unite the five kingdoms of Albion. You all know this tale, yes?" Heads bobbed around the table. "Then you all know that there were other prophecies intertwined with the main one?"

A few frowns of confusion flitted around the assembly.

Muronius sighed. "Must I do everything myself? Oh, fine. It was said that there was a witch; she was the hate to Emrys' love. She was the only one to have the power to defeat Emrys, but in the end he would be her doom. Do any of you know of the Battle of Camlann, precisely one year ago?"

There was a mix of yes' and no's. The Druids lived far from Camelot and all its news; few of them even knew the King's name, as it was. They had well distanced themselves from the rest of the world.

Unhindered by his perpetually ignorant audience, Muronius went on. "In that battle, the witch was killed. As was Emrys, as you all know. But the witch was not killed by his hand—she was slain by the Once and Future King."

A medley of gasps and sounds of confusion echoed around the table, coming from the few who'd understood the implications, and the rest, who were still lost.

Evalac was one of the confused. "How is this relevant, Muronius?" he asked with a frown, in a tone that held a warning.

Rodrick looked to Muronius, who nodded back at him. The young man took a breath. "The prophecy was not fulfilled, Evalac. The witch was killed by the King, not by Emrys."

No one questioned Rodrick's knowledge; he'd been raised by Muronius after his parents had abandoned him in the forest as a baby, and knew more of the old man's secrets than anyone else.

Evalac was slowly coming to understand, and he didn't like what he understood. "And the prophecy can never be fulfilled, because they are both dead."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Muronius muttered to himself.

A Druid woman turned to him. "What was that, Muronius?"

"Oh, nothing," the old Druid hummed. His eyes flitted dispassionately around the tent, settling on a low spot on the wall to his left, where three shadows were just barely visible in the dawn light. "But there was another factor you're all not thinking of." Few were still listening to the old man, but he went on, "There was another; a boy, prophesied to kill the King… I wonder what ever happened to him?" Though Muronius' tone didn't really imply that he was wondering. He continued to stare at the same spot on the wall.

Outside that very spot, Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana quietly got to their feet and crept away to discuss their findings.

Muronius smirked to himself, leaning back.

He was done talking for the day.

* * *

_Present_

* * *

"… and then they started talking about new places to store food, or something, so we left," Merlin finished.

Geroldin pondered this information with a frown on his face. "That's why he's been so distant with me, then."

"Who, Evalac?"

The old man looked up. "Well, yes. But I was talking about Thomas… old bloke's been ignoring me these past few days. I guess it's because of this secret council they've set up… but if he really did state his opinions so openly, then he probably won't be at their next meeting, I can tell you that. Evalac likes unbiased people, or people of his opinion. No one else."

"Does it bother you?" Morgana asked. "That they're excluding you from the meetings?"

"Not especially. I can still attend the official council meetings, and I don't particularly want to plot against you three."

"Is that what they're doing?" Mordred looked a strange mixture of anxious and outraged. "Plotting?"

Geroldin gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't you worry, Mordred. It will never amount to anything; they don't have any proof of you three doing wrong, because you're not _doing _any wrong. I told you; Evalac doesn't like change. He needs time."

"When did this all start?" Merlin asked. "He was fine the first few weeks, wasn't he?"

"That was before we all saw how powerful you are. On the day you healed Caspar, you proved that you had within you the power of Emrys. Evalac is scared of that."

"But that was five months ago!"

"None of the—well, _few _of the others have problems with us!" Morgana added, puffing up her chest.

Geroldin sighed. "I'm afraid you don't understand me. Many of the Druids are, I'm sorry to say it, _wary _of you three. Everyone knows that Emrys was killed, precisely one year ago. No one understands why his power would be brought back, or how, but here you are. Evalac has no power over this situation, and he doesn't like it. It frightens a few of the others."

"But we're not Emrys. We can't be! He was killed. Dead things aren't meant to come back," said Mordred, frowning. It made perfect sense to him, so why wasn't Geroldin listening? They weren't Emrys… how could they be? They already knew the story of Emrys, of the prophecies, of the Once and Future King. It was one of the few things they'd actually remembered.

Geroldin raised an eyebrow at the young man. "Mordred, there is no other explanation, and you know it. As improbable as it may seem, I believe it to be the truth."

"But Geroldin—"

"And that is all," the old man said slowly, emphasizing each word, "I wish to say on the matter."

The three sighed, thanking Geroldin and making their ways towards the exit. Morgana was last on the way out.

"And Morgana?"

She turned around, one leg already outside the tent, raising an eyebrow.

Geroldin paused, contemplating his next words. "Keep them out of trouble."

Morgana blinked. She felt a little chastised, though she knew not why. Nonetheless, she nodded, slipping gracefully through the tent opening to follow her brothers.

* * *

**Okay here's a recount of the OCs for the more easily-confused of you:**

**Geroldin is the nice old man who discovered Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana in the forest. He is the clan's mentor-teacher-person of knowledge.**  
**Evalac is the leader of the Druids. He does not particularly like the three new additions to his clan. He's also quite possessive. **  
**Caspar is a little boy. I almost killed him but then I didn't.**  
**Emmerich is also a little boy. He's Caspar's best friend. He screamed once last chapter I think.**  
**Thomas is an old man who believes the best in everyone, except for Andrew. He's very opinionated, and usually optimistic.**  
**Andrew is a young man with flowing hair. He's very pessimistic, especially about Thomas. He's quite opinionated as well. He's Evalac's right-hand man. **  
**Rodrick is a young man who is very smart but has... _issues_ being socially accepted as 'normal.' Tends to blurt things out, but they usually have at least some relevance.**  
**Muronius is Rodrick's parental figure. He is a sassy old man and he knows everything.**

**Whoo! I think that's everyone...**

**Don't expect the next chapter to be up quite so quickly XD I have a life to get back to now...  
There should be more of Camelot next chapter!  
**

**Please review! o3o**


	4. Empty Homes

**Chapter four!**  
**I know I said that last chapter would be the end of dramatic old men... well, nope! Not quite.**  
**Besides, dramatic old people are my specialty. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Merlin, but all the dramatic old men are mine.**  
**WARNING: This chapter contains Gwaine. That is all. Well, not quite; there are also quite a few paragraphs of great emotional value that depict the characters' motives for whatever strange actions I may or may not bestow upon them.**  
**No slash intended, unless you absolutely must.**

**I've written 'present' at the beginning of the first part, but this seems to be the end of the flashbacks. Expect everything to be happening the the present (well, relative to the rest of the story) from now on, unless otherwise stated.  
**

* * *

_Present_

* * *

Merlin walked out first, stretching his arms over his head as the sunlight swept over him.

"Well," he began, "at least we know… Geroldin's… aware of the situation."

Morgana let out a great huff, gliding ahead. "We've accomplished nothing. Evalac still hates us, and Geroldin still won't do anything about it."

"Maybe it's because he _can't_ do anything about it," Mordred suggested.

Morgana stared at him for a second before rolling her eyes in exasperation. "You're both too quick to give up. I, for one, want to be accepted in this clan. We have nowhere else to go and…." She faltered to a stop, turning around to face her brothers. Her eyes were slightly red. She spoke the next part in their minds.

_We don't even have real homes. Or real lives. I don't want to live without knowing who I've been. _

"None of us do, Morgana," Merlin said gently, moving forwards to place a hand on her shoulder. "But we'll figure this out."

"How can you be so sure of that?" she asked, with none of her usual fire.

Merlin couldn't answer. Having no memories was frustrating at best, but one thing was worse than the inexplicable feeling of knowing something, yet not knowing how; worse than walking upon the Earth, without even knowing what it could look like outside this small part of the forest; worse than not knowing who your family was, if they were looking for you, if they were even still alive; worse than the constant feeling that people were keeping things from you.

The worst feeling, for them, was not having a home.

They didn't belong anywhere. They didn't know where they'd come from, and it was clear that they weren't wanted in the Druid village, but they knew nowhere else. Their entire world had shrunk to a small community of Druids in a cluster of tents and small wooden houses in a secluded part of a forest, close to nowhere and far from everything. Then again, they weren't to know if the world even _existed _beyond the forest. It was scary in a way they couldn't comprehend, but something also told them that there was life farther out there; there were cities and castles and small towns.

They knew of Emrys and Camelot, and what had happened there, but all they knew of Camelot was the small patrol of soldiers that had beaten Caspar almost to death. And the mental image they conjured of the place wasn't very nice.

But they tried to distance themselves from idle thoughts. There were dark images in their minds—they weren't exactly memories, and they never moved. But they saw images of bloody battles, where the victors hadn't even the strength to celebrate. There were ancient, wrinkled beings with their eyes scratched out, reaching for them with knobbly fingers, opening toothless mouths…. No, they distanced themselves from their deepest thoughts.

They tried to think in the present, think of the village, think of the children who would joyfully ask them to show them some pretty magic when it was dark out and they were meant to be sleeping.

But the idle thoughts always returned, constantly developing into fruitless efforts to regain memory. Their minds told them the images were not real, and their curiosity let them respond to them in an analytical fashion, as oppose to recoiling into themselves to try and fight off the nightmares.

Something told them that they'd already seen far worse.

* * *

_Meanwhile in Camelot_

* * *

"Arthur, you can't!"

The King sighed heavily at his wife. "I have to, Gwen. I need—"

The Queen was frantic. "You have visiting lords! There is an important meeting! You know what happened last time you skipped a meeting, Arthur. You can't—!"

"Guinevere." Arthur stared deep into her eyes, daring her to look away. "I _need _this."

She pursed her lips.

"_Please_."

She closed her eyes and turned her head away. "I'll tell them you're ill. This is the last time, alright? You are _King_, Arthur. You must act like one."

The words hurt, but her tone was kind. Arthur placed a hand on the back of her head and leaned forwards to plant a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you."

She did not reply as he ran out the door to gather a few of his more trusted knights, so they could go wherever it was they kept going.

She never knew where he went.

She never asked.

But she knew he needed his space, today of all days.

So she let him go on another one of his 'hunts,' as he absently called them.

* * *

Soon enough, Gwaine, Leon, Percival, and Arthur were all riding merrily into the forest.

Well, merrily is not the right word. But it's the image they gave off to passersby, bowing and waving as their King trotted past.

Even the knights had stopped questioning Arthur's need to get away. They too—Gwaine especially—felt the heavy loss of their favourite manservant, and understood the King's will to get out of the city every once in a while, but the routine trips to the forest became more and more frequent as Merlin's anniversary of death neared, until they were riding into the woods almost weekly. The knights understood Arthur, they really did, but it had been a full year. It was hard, but they'd all let it go. Merlin was gone, but they weren't, and they had to appreciate that.

Arthur didn't seem aware of that fact. He was alive, but he wasn't living. He left most of the important decisions to Guinevere or Leon, and he never smiled anymore.

The knights tried to coax some of the old Arthur they knew out of his impassive shell, but he seemed a lost hope. Only Gwaine really bothered to try anymore.

"So, Princess," he began, once they had slowed the horses to a stiff walk past the trees on a well-worn path, "about that beard of yours…."

"I will not shave it, Gwaine, as I've already told you," Arthur said dispassionately, not making any effort to even glance at the grinning man beside him.

"Oh, no, of course not! I would _never _suggest that," he said fervidly, as if the mere thought appalled him. "No, I was only thinking that I should step up my game if I want to keep my title of Most Attractive Bearded Man in Camelot."

Arthur frowned, slowly turning to face the still-smiling scruffy man alongside him. "Are you finally admitting that I am more attractive than you?" he asked quietly, a tiny smug smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.

Gwaine let out a light scoff. "Of course not, Arthur. Everyone knows I'm the most attractive man in all of Albion. No," he continued, smile softening slightly until he began to show hints of concern, "I was just trying to get you to stop staring at the trees as if they'd caused the death of your family."

Arthur stiffened, looking straight ahead once more. "We will not speak of this, Sir Gwaine."

Gwaine knew he was in trouble when Arthur used official titles. It also helped that Leon hissed at him to stop from behind.

But that didn't stop him, of course.

"Come on, Arthur. You can't keep it all bottled up! It's not—"

Arthur spun around harshly, dropping off his horse and gripping Gwaine by his shirt, dragging him to the ground. "You will not tell me what to do. I said we would not speak of this."

Gwaine remained unfazed. "I'm only trying to help," he stated calmly.

It was his perpetually peaceful demeanor that kept Arthur from banishing him entirely from his sight. It seemed a strange tactic to others, but it kept Arthur grounded. Gwaine knew that if he didn't push the King to open up, then no one would. Gwen was too nice; she'd already done more than enough, besides. Gaius was an old man, and unstable as Arthur was, Gwaine didn't want them to talk for too long. So Gwaine pressed forwards, retaining a forced calm throughout it all. Every little jab did its work—he'd even provoked a small smile! That, if anything, was what kept him from giving up entirely. Sir Gwaine was often considered a lazy knight, with poor respect for his King and a weak strategic mind. But Gwaine did not give up, and that's what set him apart from the others. He really was doing this to help Arthur, as strange as it seemed; he really did care. And he knew that if anyone could bring the old Arthur back, it was him.

Arthur dropped Gwaine, who was still smiling that unnerving smile. He walked away, hauling himself back onto his horse and spurring it forth.

He didn't know what Gwaine was trying to do.

But as much as the knight annoyed him, he had to admit… getting angry like that felt _good_. It had been too long since he'd last felt an emotion as strongly.

Yes, it had felt quite good.

* * *

_At the Druid camp_

* * *

Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana were sitting in a circle with the children of the village. They smiled and laughed as the children took turns telling stories. They were only allowed to use one word per turn, so the stories ended up being quite strange and random, but it was entertainment, and it helped the three Emryses forget their pressing issues.

It was Caspar's turn, and he was having trouble forming sentences through his peals of laughter. Emmerich sat next to him, smiling widely. But he did not laugh much as he watched his friend. Emmerich had seen how easily Caspar's life was almost extinguished, and he made sure to keep close to his mischievous friend from then on. Even as Caspar's laughs slowly faded away as he caught Emmerich staring and questioned him, the brown-haired boy merely smiled and shrugged.

Merlin and his siblings did not smile as they watched. Emmerich shouldn't have had to go through that—he was too young. Caspar had been unconscious for the ordeal, and he had recuperated marvellously, but Emmerich… even if he managed to forget the events five months prior (which was unlikely), he'd probably always be overprotective of his smaller friend.

And he would most likely find it difficult to ever trust anyone from Camelot ever again.

Evalac stood beside Geroldin as they watched the children play, the Emryses fitting seamlessly into their little group.

"I really don't understand why you don't trust them, Evalac," Geroldin was saying, smiling softly as he watched a small girl fall over from laughing too hard.

Evalac was scowling. "I don't see why you _do_. We don't know anything about them!"

"Neither do they, as you well know. You're being unfair to them."

"They're hiding something from us. I know it."

Geroldin puffed. "Evalac, you've been saying that for months, but have you ever even thought to ask them?"

"I don't have to," the younger man said stubbornly, gazing blankly at the squealing children. "I know that they will only lie to me."

Geroldin was too frustrated to even sigh again. "That's because you continually lie to _them_, Evalac. You need to at least _try _to trust them."

Evalac finally turned to his companion, aghast. "Do you _truly _believe that they can be trusted?" His tone was not kind.

The old man glared at his leader. "Maybe I do. Maybe I've set up a secret council with them and the other children and we meet at dawn to discuss your demise."

Evalac looked at once both mortified and furious. The old Druid almost regretted telling him. Almost.

"I am not sorry, Geroldin," the younger man eventually ground out, scowling.

"Nor am I."

"They cannot be trusted."

"If you say so."

"Geroldin, I—"

"No, no, it is fine." The old man's face was totally impassive. There was still a ghost of a smile on his lips, but his stony eyes said otherwise. "You made your choice. I am making mine."

"What are you—?"

Geroldin's voice was soft, but it resounded in Evalac's ears as if he'd yelled. "You disagree with everything I say, simply because of some irrational fear that these three children will somehow make the other Druids lose faith in you. There is nothing heroic in what you're doing, Evalac. You are riddled with an odd mixture of pride and insecurity. I have consulted Muronius—"

"That old goat is _mad_. I should kick him off the official council—"

"You will do no such thing," Geroldin said quietly. It was not an order; it was a statement, clear as that. "Muronius is by far the wisest of us all, and he knows more about this world and its people than you can ever even imagine to. This clan would fall to pieces without him. And he agrees with me; I should quit. Give up on you. See if you'll enjoy hearing Andrew's advice more than mine."

Evalac's eyes widened. He had made a grave mistake, and he knew it. "Geroldin—"

"Oh, I'm not going to give up on you, fool. Not just yet, at least. But know this." Geroldin leaned in a bit closer to the younger man, but continually refused to look him in the eye. "As long as you refuse to trust them, you refuse to trust me. And I can't very well be expected to trust someone who does not trust me, now can I?"

Geroldin raised an eyebrow as a final warning, stepping away from the Druid leader to make his way back to his tent.

Evalac found his voice. "Geroldin, wait—!"

The old Druid did not turn around. "I have made up my mind, Evalac. See if you can change yours into reason."

Evalac watched as his oldest friend walked away, smiling at the children he passed and patting their little heads.

He felt something inside him crumble.

But he didn't call Geroldin back.

* * *

**(If none of you remember who the OCs are, please refer to the end of the previous chapter. Thank you.)**

**I really don't know why I'm updating this so quickly lol there's barely anyone reading it! I guess I really _don't_ have a life to get back to...**  
**But if the next chapter doesn't happen for a month, do not panic. Just know that it was bound to happen at some point.**

**Feel free to ask questions or point out any mistakes, typos, confusing things, paragraph problems, etc. Suggestions are also welcome, so tell me all your creepy fetishes to see if I can get them in somehow!  
**

**And don't forget to please review! o3o**


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